


Side Room

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Half A Blowjob, M/M, Sex Club, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory gets dragged to a sex club and that probably should’ve never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Room

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Rosemerta’s—not at all to be confused with Madam Rosemerta’s—is somewhere between a grungy, back-alley dive bar and a polished, high-class escort service. The outside is, of course, no more innocuous than the Leaky Cauldron—this establishment is wizards and witches only. If it weren’t, Draco wouldn’t be attending, and Gregory, therefore, wouldn’t be dragged along. 

As it is, he’s standing beside the front desk, not quite sure if he should be ogling the risqué moving portraits or adamantly eyeing the floor. It’s all dark wooden interiors with thick crimson carpets, gold trimmings and drapery dripping black tassels—bordereaux-esque. The ugly little witch in the too-tight corset has puttered off somewhere, and Draco’s disappeared behind the doors up the stairs, leaving Gregory alone in the tight foyer. This is, he supposes, better than being not alone, because the only other people that could conceivably be here are sex club patrons, and Gregory’s not nearly well versed enough in social things to know what that entails. Grubby, old, sweaty wizards to match the desk witch, probably. And then they’d see him here, and of course he’d grunt and try to explain that he’s only here for Draco—although that sounds bad—but who’d believe him? Not that he should be embarrassed. But he is embarrassed. Fuck. It’s bad enough to have his family lose everything in the war and get stuck at a shitty dishwashing job in the Muggle world since his wand was snapped, but now he’s wasting time in sex clubs. Stupid. He’s stupid. Why is he even standing here?

One of the doors on his right opens, and Gregory’s head abruptly snaps around. He tenses immediately, going into the usual mode he gets when he feels cornered—he’ll punch his way out of this. Yeah. Punch his way out of everything. Fuck, he never learned any better. The worst part of being this useless in life is that he’s dreadfully aware of it; no wonder Gryffindors were always calling him slow. (Though, of course, he’d rather be a slow Slytherin than a goody-two-shoes Gryffindork, but that doesn’t exactly help out here.) The man that steps out of the door isn’t a grubby, old, sweaty wizard. 

He’s not even a man, really. More like a boy. Or somewhere in between, right in that age gap where he looks legal, but just barely. But he can’t be completely sure. Surely sex clubs don’t hire children, right? Sure. The boy obviously works here; he’s only wearing a pair of impossibly tight, black leather trousers that perfectly hug his pert, young ass, a thin silver chain hung between his nipples, clamped on to either one, and a thick black dog collar. There’s something vaguely wolfish about his face, and a headband threaded through his bright turquoise hair sports a set of shaggy brown dog ears. It matches a fluffy brown tail attached to his end that only becomes visible when it swishes out on the next step. Must be a fetish thing. He’s lithe and strange-looking but strikingly attractive, and he bites his lip as he wanders towards the desk, eyeing Gregory up and down beneath heavy, half-lidded lashes. 

When he talks, Gregory can see the shine of a metal stud on his tongue. “Marilyn here?” His voice is smooth and slightly lilting, but deep.

It takes Gregory a second to realize he’s been spoken to and a second longer to extrapolate the meaning. Marilyn. Is that the witch that sat behind the desk? Gregory looks dazedly sideways before telling the probably-teenager, “Er, I think she left.”

“Obviously,” the boy says with a smile. There might be a laugh in it. A minute more, and the boy sidles a bit closer, arms folded atop the smooth countertop. “Have you been served, Sir?”

Gregory hasn’t been called ‘Sir’ in a very long time. Or maybe never. It makes him more than a little flustered, and he grunts, “I’m waiting for a friend.” ...Which totally didn’t answer the question. 

“Lucky friend,” the boy quips, and Gregory can’t help but notice the way the boy’s eyes linger on his crotch. Gregory subtly shifts his legs, wishing he had robes to hide if anything goes wrong down there. Instead, he’s just in slacks and a black tee and a loose jacket—he was just supposed to taxi Draco around, nothing fancy. The boy straightens out a little, licking his lips and asking, “She’s a friend that works here...?”

She? Did Gregory say ‘she’? It forces Gregory to say, “He, uh, no...”

“So it doesn’t have to be a she?” The boy lifts an eyebrow suggestively. Even Gregory’s not stupid enough to miss that sign. ...If this kid wants the money that badly, he’s barking up the wrong tree; Gregory makes barely minimum wage. He’s not dressed for money, either; if this kid is a professional, he should see that. When Gregory doesn’t answer, the boy sticks out a hand and offers, “Teddy.”

“Excuse me?”

Grinning broadly, the boy thrusts his hand closer. “My name. It’s Teddy. Teddy Lupin. Yours?” The hand hovers in mid air. The trouble is that it draws Gregory’s eyes down to it, and with his eyes down, it’s impossible not to notice the rest of Teddy’s sensual body, his smooth, bare chest and the low dip of his trousers, snug around sharp hipbones. Gregory takes the offered hand mostly so he won’t keep looking down and dig himself into a shame-hole.

“Er, Gregory. Gregory Goyle.” Wait, Lupin—that sounds familiar. From where, he has no idea. Hogwarts, maybe? He only ever really knew people at Hogwarts. There weren’t any Lupins in Slytherin, and this kid’s too old to be the child of any of his peers anyway. But still quite a bit younger than him. Maybe he’s crazy; there were names all over the place in the war. Probably just read it in the paper. Teddy takes a step back, but he doesn’t let go of Gregory’s hand. 

The next step takes Gregory with it, and Gregory reluctantly steps forward, following. Teddy’s hips are swaying as he walks backwards, too enticing for their own good. “Why don’t you stay with me while you wait for your friend, Mr. Goyle?” Teddy purrs in an absolutely irresistible voice, and by now he’s nearing the open door he came out of, tugging Gregory with him. _Mr. Goyle_. This isn’t right. Gregory never thought he’d actually pay for sex. (Not that he’s about to get it any other way, other than those one or two times he’s gotten drunk at Draco’s parties and found someone else drunk enough, or when Pansy comes over and pretends he’s Draco and Gregory doesn’t say anything because sex. Sex.)

Knowing he might get sex makes it really hard to stop. As soon as they’re inside the room, the door automatically clicks shut behind them—probably some spell. The room is small and dimly lit, an elaborate candelabra floating a few centimeters down from the ceiling. There’s a wardrobe on one side and a desk with a mirror on the other and a large, four-poster, wooden, crimson-sheeted bed against the far wall. Teddy drags him right there, turning around after so that Gregory’s the one with his back to the bed, never once letting his eyes leave Teddy’s body. 

“I like strong men,” Teddy sighs. “You look like you could handle a werewolf.” And he strays forward with that same swing to him, making the metaphor look not so metaphorical. 

The back of Gregory’s knees hit the bed. He’s got nowhere to back up. Teddy lightly shoves at his chest, and Gregory stumbles backwards, scrambling to sit up properly and not look like an idiot. “Hey,” he grumbles on instinct, because he’s not usually on the receiving end of being pushed around, but Teddy’s already making him forget his thoughts. 

Teddy’s climbing into his lap, straddling him, knees in the blankets and hands on Gregory’s shoulders, ass firmly against Gregory’s crotch. Gregory leans back on his arms, and Teddy leans with him, asking quietly in a throaty sort of drawl, “What would you like today, Mr. Goyle?” 

Gregory opens his mouth, thinks of nothing to say, and closes it. Grinning, Teddy slowly starts to rock his hips, moving as though to an unconscious beat, crotch rolling into Gregory’s rapidly tenting slacks. Gregory’s sure his face is red. Chuckling prettily, Teddy suggests, “Perhaps a little puppy play? My specialty, you see,” and he winks, clearly indicating his ears and tail. “Although, they also help warm clients up to the idea of a werewolf, but I’m sure a big, buff man like you could already handle that...” Teddy licks his lips, his tongue stud visible again, and Gregory gulps. There’s no way this tiny, beautiful little thing is a werewolf. And why would he say that, anyway? Is that supposed to be a plus in a sex club? “You may not know it if you’re just here for a friend, but Rosemerta’s is famous for indulging all kinds of fetishes, even catering to the darker crowd...” Perhaps this kid knows that his father’s a Death Eater: not exactly a secret. “But you know, we hosts do get to approve our own clients to a certain extent, so you should be very flattered that I find you intriguing enough to try out...”

“Is this free?” Gregory immediately regrets saying it. That sounds tactless. But the way Teddy phrased it made it seem like _Teddy’s_ sampling _Gregory_ , as insane as that is. 

There’s definitely something canine about the way Teddy grins. His eyes are still half-lidded, pupils pre-dilated. Fuck, his hips know what they’re doing. “Consider this trial on the house; I like to know what I’m working with before money’s on the table and obligations are in place...” Sort of makes sense. Does it? Gregory can’t think straight. Teddy’s doing a number and a half on his clothed cock, and it’s already straining against the fabric to get out. This isn’t good. _Fuck_ , that _ass_ —how does anything feel so good? It’s somehow both taut and round, smooth and firm, lusciously making promises to the rhythm of nonexistent music. Gregory’s never had a sober lapdance before, certainly nothing of this caliber. It doesn’t disappoint. He groans without meaning too, hands shifting closer in the mattress. He wants to grab Teddy’s hips and hold them down, but then, he doesn’t want to touch merchandise he hasn’t paid for yet. 

He wants to throw Teddy onto the ground and fuck him senseless, but that’s a typical flittering thought in Gregory’s head with young, attractive men, and he’s not about to just do it. He’s heard the horror stories about Azkaban. Is this kid even legal? He doesn’t want to ask and ruin it, but his stupid mouth grunts, “How old are you?”

The grin on Teddy’s lips is starting to look a little like a smirk. “How old do you want me to be?” What a sex club answer. Gregory’s sorry he asked. Seventeen. He’ll pretend seventeen. As young as he can go without warranting prison. (He’s got a place reserved in hell, though, but he already knew that.) Maybe because he just looks worried, Teddy sighs, “Nineteen. Do you want me to look like something else? I could be older for you.”

Gregory’s eyebrows knit; that’s not something that can be done, but just as he’s thinking it, Teddy’s hips still, and he bites his lip, and he hunches his shoulders like a porn star. With an erotic cry of faux-ecstasy, Teddy tosses his head back, and suddenly his hair’s rippling out into gold, face switching into something sharper, more pointed. A few adjustments, and Gregory has a young Draco in his lap, half naked with a swinging nipple chain and fervent, talented hips. 

Gregory can’t get the yelp out fast enough. If he were standing, he’d probably fall over. Instead, he just pushes Teddy abruptly off his lap, and Teddy stumbles to the floor, looking surprised but not nearly as much as Gregory is. That seems a fair reaction, though he’d probably say sorry if he weren’t busy near shouting, “What the fuck?” 

Draco—Teddy—someone gets to their feet, features rippling back to the way they were, soft and wolfish and turquoise. “Calm down.” Back-to-Teddy-again rubs his ass, muttering, “I’m a metamorphmagus; I thought you’d enjoy it.” He adds with a sharply raised eyebrow that now reminds Gregory too much of another light-haired individual, “Most do.”

When Gregory fails to say anything else, just opens his mouth like a fish, heartbeat settling back to normal, Teddy continues, “I guessed he was your friend—I know he went in with my colleague earlier and looked about your age. If you’re not into that, I can stay like this.” Another sly look: “Or anything else you want.”

“Er, that’ll do.” That’ll more than do. He’s already gorgeous; why he’d want to look like anyone... like _Draco_... is beyond Gregory. Coughing, Gregory clears his throat and adds, “I like you like this.” Because he feels a little bad now for tossing a boy half his size around. “Stay.”

“...I’ll stay like this,” Teddy drawls, re-approaching and then bending down, running his lips dangerously close to Gregory’s and dropping his voice to a whisper, “if you promise to handle me right.”

Gulping, Gregory nods. He only treats people right. Er, now. ...If he likes them. Not so much if Draco doesn’t like them.... But Draco doesn’t ever have to know about this; no one does. Teddy tilts his head even more, so, so close, millimeters away—Gregory can feel Teddy’s breath across his lips. Teddy sighs almost too quietly to hear, “You will? Then you better start treating me like a man: hold me back and maybe push me down, fuck me hard. I haven’t had someone with a well-built, muscled, handsome figure like yours for quite a while, and I’m going to be quite disappointed if you keep acting like a sexless rock while I do my utmost to seduce you...”

Handsomeness isn’t something anyone’s ever accused Gregory off. Teddy has fucked up tastes. Whatever. Whatever: Gregory’s not going to question that; his brain’s too busy kicking into overdrive, trying to figure out exactly how much of that Teddy means. If he really threw Teddy down and fucked him hard into the floor, Gregory would probably break the poor kid. It’s either all out aggression or nothing with him; he doesn’t know what to do otherwise. 

Well, he has to get onto the bed better. Teddy’s pulling back, and Gregory uses the room to lean down and kick off his shoes—yeah, fuck shoes. Then he shuffles back on the bed, looking at Teddy with a curious ‘you’re-gonna-follow-me,-right?’ sort of look. Teddy’s smile seems to say, ‘yes,-of-course.’

Teddy climbs back onto the bed before Gregory’s even done, and Teddy shoves at Gregory’s chest. Gregory lies down, head in the pillows, far softer than his ones at home. He’s only looking at the black canopy top for a split-second before he’s looking back at Teddy, watching Teddy move on all fours. It looks like it comes naturally to him. The chain between his nipples hangs down, twinkling in the dim light and disappearing into the shadows of the bed as Teddy advances. Teddy’s nipples are small and pink, rosy, budded little things, clipped with small metal clamps to hold up the chain. There’s also a metallic ring on the dog collar that hangs down, giving Gregory the distinct urge to hook a leash up to it to better drag Teddy around. 

If he does get approval, which he very much doubts he will, and if he does come back, which he probably will because of Draco, there’s certainly a lot of possibilities his guttural head is coming up with. How far does Teddy take that wolf thing, really? Or puppy thing, apparently. Gregory’s not entirely sure what puppy play is, but he can make a few easy guesses, and everything he thinks of, he likes. Or maybe that’s just because Teddy’s demonstrating them in his head, and a half-naked Teddy could convince Gregory of just about anything. Teddy’s hovering over Gregory’s crotch. It’s Gregory’s chest he’s looking at. “I showed you mine,” he purrs. “Show me yours?”

Gregory just barely hesitates to listen. He lifts up on his elbows enough to awkwardly tug down his jacket, tossing it aside, and then he’s rolling up his shirt to under his armpits, and Teddy makes a delighted mewling sound. “A six-pack! Ooh, I knew you’d have one—and look at those pecs...” Gregory’s blushing harder. He does work out, of course—being able to beat the shit out of people has thus far been his primary value in life. But it’s not something he usually gets recognition for. Teddy’s hungrily eyeing the smooth line running down his stomach. Teddy even reaches out a hand to trace the outlines of a few muscles, crooning, “Can you make them flex?” 

Gregory assumes that means his pectorals, and he does the best he can to flex them each, one at a time. Teddy looks like he’s practically salivating. As if to himself, he mutters under his breath, “I need somebody strong.” His eyes flicker up. “I like older men.” Cheshire grin all over those gorgeous features, Teddy weasels his way down to practically moan, “I don’t care if you’re a rock; I _like_ you.” 

“I like you, too.” That sounds stupid and doesn’t even come close to cutting it, but oh well. It’s already out of Gregory’s mouth. Teddy sits back again, smiling. 

“You know, you’re a good listener.” Ignoring Gregory’s comment, Teddy slithers down to Gregory’s crotch, legs spread around Gregory’s and head leaning down, cheek lying to rest against Gregory’s very tented trousers. “Sort of like a sidekick that doubles as a bodyguard. You’re pretty much just going where I take you, indulgent and letting me do what I want, but with the body to back it up if I so need it...” Lifting an eyebrow, Teddy asks, “Now that I think of it, what’s a catch like you doing in a sex club?”

Sidekicking for a ‘best friend’ because he’s totally not a catch and if he told Draco that Draco would laugh at him all the way back to their shitty post-war apartment. But at least now he knows that observant Teddy is alright with his usual dynamic. That’s more comfortable to him, and he asks, “What do you want?”

Teddy chuckles. Smirks. Looks away and pulls back enough to place the first kiss of the night on the bulge pressing against the fabric of Gregory’s trousers. Gregory’s breath might’ve caught in his throat. The mere thought of being in Teddy’s mouth is far better than any sloppy blowjob Gregory’s ever had before: drunk Pansy with her too-sharp teeth or that chick from the pub down the street that gags at more than six centimeters. Teddy opens his mouth and presses his tongue against the zipper, licking a hard line all the way up to the top, the sight alone making Gregory twitch within his confines. Teddy’s going to be good. Great. It’s obvious. Gregory needs to get out of these damn trousers. 

Teddy’s on it. His teeth clamp around the zipper like something out of a sleazy daydream, dragging it slowly down. There’s a button at the top that Gregory hurriedly moves to help with, but Teddy slaps his hands away. Gregory shifts his arms awkwardly to the side, not knowing what to do with them. He wants to grab Teddy’s hair and shove Teddy down onto his cock, but he thinks he’s just been told not to move. And there’s no way he’s going to do anything that might compromise him getting those lips around his cock. Teddy hooks his fingers into the hems of both Gregory’s pants and boxers at once. It takes Gregory a second to realize he needs to lift his hips up.

As soon as he does it, Teddy yanks his clothes down his thighs, just the right amount for his cock to spring out, rock-solid and jutting proudly into the air, thick and veined and ready. Gregory doesn’t exactly have the room to be embarrassed by his body—he’s too busy ogling Teddy’s and bristling with anticipation. Teddy looks gleefully down at him, wetting pouted lips. “I knew you’d be big,” Teddy coos appreciatively. “Now _that’s_ a cock worthy of a werewolf...”

Gregory should probably ask about this werewolf business, but instead he says stupidly, “Thanks.” His head is barely functioning; he’s just processing how damn lucky he is and how fucking hot Teddy is and holy fuck Teddy likes _him._ Teddy smiles like Gregory’s stupidity is cute. 

Teddy leans down and nuzzles his supermodel face into Gregory’s shaft, and it’s all Gregory can do not to hump up like an animal. He clutches the blankets tight to hold himself down. Teddy shifts one hand onto Gregory’s hip, fingers brushing through the dark strands above his cock and effectively holding him down. Then Teddy opens his mouth wide and ducks down. Without any warning, he sucks one of Gregory’s balls into his mouth, and Gregory’s subsequent groan is almost a howl. Thank Merlin for silencing spells—he’s sure they must be up. Teddy’s mouth is hot, wet, tight. Teddy’s tongue is perfect, lapping at the bottom, and Teddy suckles on it gently like Gregory’s ball is some sort of decadent candy. 

When Teddy pulls back, it’s just to give the other ball the same treatment. Gregory tries not to think about whether or not he showered today. He doesn’t deserve this. All he can do is stare down at Teddy, watch the way Teddy’s lips glisten with spit and stretch around Gregory’s sac. When Teddy starts to rub his tongue in with more pressure, Gregory can feel the cold metal stud. Somehow, it only adds to the excitement. 

Teddy hums around the ball before popping off, pausing to stare at Gregory’s cock again, almost like he’s savouring the moment. Gregory doesn’t want to ruin it. He stifles his impatience and lets Teddy sigh contentedly before leaning forward to blow over the head, delicate fingers wrapping around the base. Teddy sticks his tongue out and licks at the slit, tongue nearly pressing in. 

Teddy kisses the tip and asks, “Do you mind if I swallow your cock, Mr. Goyle?” As though this is all some storefront demonstration and there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that Gregory will say he minds. 

More gruffly than he means, Gregory grumbles, “Tease.” Teddy’s grin turns impish. Apparently, he wants to prove the accusation wrong. 

Because a second later, he’s opening his mouth, and then he’s sliding right down over Gregory’s cock like it’s all he ever wanted. There’s no hesitation, no pause, simply the hotter, wetter, tighter casement of Teddy’s mouth descending over him centimeter by centimeter, surprisingly fast and effortlessly grateful. There should be a gag reflex, Gregory thinks, or something, but he’s hitting the back of Teddy’s throat and then he’s slipping down it, and Gregory tosses his head back, and his moan turns into a cry of sheer pleasure. If Teddy weren’t holding his hips, he’d be bucking up. Teddy’s mouth is fucking perfect. How is it even possible to be so perfect? Then Teddy sucks, before he’s even finished, hollowing out his cheeks and still sliding down, and it’s all Gregory can do to stop himself from trembling. 

Teddy makes a muffled, triumphant sound when he reaches the base, nose buried in Gregory’s pubic hair, wet lips stretched obscenely wide. It doesn’t even seem possible. Maybe it’s because he’s a metamorphmagus or whatever. Holy fuck. Gregory’s going to faint. What if Teddy’s throat is just molding right to his cock? It doesn’t make any sense, but he’s thinking it. Teddy sucks again, then swallows, probably a healthy dose of precum, and Gregory’s moan doubles in decibels. Teddy suckles for a bit, as though testing it out. Gregory struggles to take only what he’s given. He’s given heaven. Fuck, _so good_...

But then Teddy’s sliding off, and all Gregory wants to do is growl and force him back down. Teddy’s tongue is pressed flat along the underside the entire way up. He slips off completely with a wet popping noise, licking his lips and staring down at it. He sighs, “Perfect.” And he kisses the tip again. 

His dilated eyes flicker up to Gregory’s. Wiping his mouth off on his wrist, he practically begs in a raspy, incredibly erotic voice, “Can I kiss you?”

What Gregory means to say is: ‘you can do whatever you want,’ but what he actually says is, “Yeah.” He doesn’t even care where Teddy’s mouth has been. Somehow, they haven’t kissed yet. The Cheshire cat look is back. Teddy slides up Gregory’s body with the kind of skill only a professional could have, and when he leans forward, his nipple chain slips across Gregory’s chest, cool and light. Gregory tilts his head to match Teddy’s. 

Teddy presses their lips together gently, just briefly, pulling back a second later. He nods. 

He leans in again with a burst of fervor, running his tongue along the seam of Gregory’s lips until Gregory opens them. Gregory doesn’t wait for Teddy’s tongue to enter into his mouth—he shoves his in first, battling Teddy’s back and devouring the bittersweet taste of Teddy’s mouth. He’s suddenly hungry, feral, a beast let out of a cage. He grabs at the back of Teddy’s head to hold Teddy in, head in full make-out-mode. 

_“Goyle!”_

Draco’s shrill but muffled voice through the door yanks Gregory back like a physical grip. His fingers open and Teddy slips away, gasping breathlessly. Either there are no silencing spells, or they’re just one-way.

_“I know you’re in there! Get out here; I wanna go home!”_

“What’s his problem?” Teddy grumbles, wiping his mouth again.

“Uh, I... he came with me,” Gregory mutters, still painfully hard, and Teddy’s still over him, close enough to hump. “I mean, on my motorcycle...” Because ex-Death Eaters can’t Apparate and Draco’s never going to get a Muggle license. Teddy’s eyes flare, seeming to shift colours; no wonder Gregory hasn’t registered it. 

“You drive a motorcycle?” 

“Yeah.”

“I like motorcycles.”

Lovely. 

_“GOYLE!”_ Something bangs on the door: probably Draco’s fist.

“Shit, I gotta—” Gregory just sort of trails off. He _hates_ pushing Teddy off him, but he has to. Draco’s difficult as is, but he’s unbearable if defied. Gregory slips off the bed before he pulls his trousers back up, his erection ridiculously evident. He tugs his jacket off the bed and puts it on while Teddy watches him, lounging across the mattress. 

“If you want to take care of that,” Teddy purrs, glancing obviously at the bulge in Gregory’s trousers, “You better come back some time.”

“I passed?” Gregory blinks. 

“You passed. ...You’ll have to pay next time, of course, but that’s to be expected if you want a fully happy ending.” Teddy winks. 

Gregory nods. Worth it. Totally worth it. Draco will drag him back sometime. “Next week, same time?”

“That’s the full moon,” Teddy muses. “Can you handle that?”

Draco shouts, _“Goyle, get your ass out here!”_

Gregory nods. He’s halfway to the door.

Then he turns, running back to the bed, grabs Teddy’s chin and presses in for a final kiss, just in case Teddy realizes while he’s gone what a stupid mistake Gregory would be. But Teddy mewls happily, leaning into it. 

Then Gregory’s back towards the door, blushing and more than a little relieved that Draco always sits in the back. As soon as Gregory gets home, he’s hopping in the shower. If he lasts that long. 

And he knows exactly who he’s going to think of.


End file.
